His gaze returns to me. “Did you review the folder?”
There it is again, that folder. I need to remember to dispose of it.
The women with curated biographies, bloodlines, and medical histories. Suitable options. Acceptable accessories.
My stomach turns, sharp and sudden.
“I don’t need to,” I say.
Richard’s eyes narrow. “You don’t need to?”
“I’ve made a selection,” I answer evenly.
His smile widens by a fraction, predatory in its satisfaction. “Then you’ve tried her.”
The words hit the table like a slap. Caleb’s expression doesn’t change, but his eyes go colder.
Something inside me goes still, like something is deciding whether of not to come to the surface.
My father doesn’t understand what he’s touching. Not Lucy. Not me. Not the fact that this, this crude reduction of her into something purchasable, makes heat rise under my skin and it has nothing to do with pride.
“I haven’t,” I say, voice flat.
“Then you should,” he replies, as if discussing wine pairings. “Before you commit publicly. Once you make it official, you’ll have to behave. The public needs to believe you’re faithful.”
I hold my tongue. I don’t mention the loyalty clause I’d already written. I don’t mention exclusivity. I don’t mention that my contract would bindmeas much as her, because my father would see that as weakness.
Instead, I take a slow sip of scotch and keep my face composed.
Richard leans back, satisfied with himself. “She looks great in a suit. I can only imagine what is underneath all those layers. I understand why you chose her.”
I should be numb to the way he speaks about women. I grew up with it. Learned from it. Built my walls out of it.
But Lucy makes it different.
Because I’veseenher. I’ve heard her laugh. I’ve watched her fuel her family from her own exhaustion. She is not an accessory. And the fact that I care about that distinction is… alarming.
A chair scrapes beside me.
Theo drops into it like a man who wasn’t invited but showed up anyway because rules are a suggestion to him.
“Sorry,” he says cheerfully. “Traffic was a nightmare.”
Richard’s eyes harden. “Traffic is always your excuse.”
Theo smiles as if his spine isn’t made of old bruises. “Good thing I wasn’t asking for forgiveness.”
He glances around the table, then looks at me.
His grin falters.
Just slightly.
That’s new.
Theo studies me for a beat longer than normal. Not teasing. Not performing. Just… watching.
“What,” I ask, sharp enough to snap him out of it. “Are you going to make a joke?”
